


No Regrets

by sneakronicity



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakronicity/pseuds/sneakronicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago he was sent to kill her, but he made a different call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I own nothing but the idea and the words. Just one way their first meeting could have played out.

He still remembered the first time he saw her. It had been through the scope of his sniper rifle, one thousand metres away, and although he knew it was impossible, at the time he swore she had turned and looked right at him.

He hesitated; he _never_ hesitated, but there was something in her eyes that gave him pause, and a moment later she was gone and he had missed his shot.

He tracked her for the rest of the day, telling himself he was just looking for another chance to finish what he had come here to do, to accomplish his mission. After a while he started to think she knew he was there and was only toying with him, and by the end of the night when she led him somewhere quiet and deserted he knew that was true.

It was an abandoned warehouse, nobody around for miles. Whatever happened here nobody would ever know, and there would be no reinforcements for either of them. Clint had stashed his rifle, the pistol strapped to his leg his only weapon... at least in the most common sense of the word. Take the guns and bows away, and a SHIELD agent was a weapon in his own right.

“Who are you?” she called out in Russian once she had stopped in the centre of the building. In her line of business, with her reputation, the famous Black Widow was on everyone’s radar. She wasn’t surprised to be followed, but when she received a response in English it clearly threw her for a moment.

“Agent Clint Barton,” he said, slowly stepping out of the shadows with his hands held up where she could see them, appearing calm and non-threatening. In contrast, she was coiled up tighter than a cobra ready to strike.

“Why are you here?” she asked, this time in English though the accent was heavy. That much he was grateful for, his Russian wasn’t very strong. Agent Barton was a sniper, not a spy, not a negotiator, not except for special circumstances, so he didn’t have all the language skills some of the other agents did. He had enough to get by, but for an important conversation he didn’t feel he had the ability.

Now he could have lied, could have sugarcoated it, but he had read her file and thought he had a pretty good idea of how her head worked. She would see through any lie and resent him that much more for trying. So he gave her the truth.

“To kill you,” Clint stated simply. She nodded in reply, clearly having already guessed that. A beat later she was launching her attack.

She was fast and skilled and she certainly kept Clint on his toes, but she was still very young and she lacked the precision and discipline he had gained through years of training. He played the defensive, blocking all her hits, rarely striking back. Even as they danced this dangerous dance he studied her motions, her strengths and weaknesses, contemplating the source of her determination. Was it her life she fought so hard for, or something else? Maybe she was just fighting hard because she didn’t know any other way. 

He played her, waiting until she started to show the first signs of fatigue before finally fighting back. He had been so passive thus far that his sudden aggression took her by surprise, giving him the upper hand. Barely the blink of an eye later he had her pinned against the wall of the warehouse, his pistol pressed against her temple. What he saw in her eyes was something he would remember for the rest of his life.

He saw fear there as was to be expected, but what he hadn’t expected was the flash of acceptance and, more surprisingly, relief. She was broken, torn apart in so many ways that he was sure even she didn’t know who she was anymore. What struck him the hardest, though, was the familiarity. He saw something he recognised there in her gaze, something he had seen looking back at him from the mirror when he had been no older than she was now.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he heard himself saying. He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t known why he had let himself get so close and personal under the guise of still doing his assignment. “I can kill you right now,” her body tensed, “or you can come with me and get a second chance.”

He saw the surprise register in her eyes followed closely by suspicion and finally confusion. He knew what she was thinking: why was he offering her this? She was suspicious of his motives. What did he have to gain in keeping her alive? She had believed him when he said he was here to kill her, so why change his mind?

“I work for a secret Government agency, and they could use someone with your skills. They will provide everything you need; shelter, clothes, retraining,” Clint explained, watching her eyes. Now for the kill shot, though not the type he was used to administering. “We can help you, Natasha.”

He knew her name from her file, one of several, and used it to his advantage, just the same as trading ‘they’ for ‘we’. There was a certain intimacy to it, using her first name, including himself among those offering to help her. That much was true, he knew how Fury worked. He was disobeying direct orders to spare her, and Fury was like to make her Clint’s new pet project, effectively grounding him from any new missions until she proved she could be trusted and that he had made the right call here. “You’re very talented. You could do a lot of good.”

He saw her faltering and knew he almost had her, but if he wanted her to choose to trust him then he would have to offer her the same. It was a risk, but he had to go with his gut on this one. Slowly he released his grip on her and backed away. Even more slowly he lowered his gun. The choice was hers.

He had taken a chance on her, had risked his life and his career, and not a day since had he regretted it. He hoped she could say the same.


End file.
